Some strange rain
by Valhalla
Summary: There's a lot of firsts for them, on the island." Daniel/Charlotte. Spoilers for S4.


**Title:** Some strange rain  
**Characters/Pairings: **Charlotte, Daniel (Dan/Charlotte)  
**Rating:** A very strong T.  
**Summary: **_"There's a lot of firsts for them, on the island."  
**Spoilers:** Nothing past S4.  
**Word Count: **1,020  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.  
**A/N:** Written for the Lostsquee Luau at Livejournal; requests for first times and rain. Title from Cotton Jones._

----

He's not thinking when he kisses her for the first time.

Well, of course he's thinking -- neurons and synapses only stop processing once the brain's stilled in death; his feeling like a whirring mess on the best days -- but not about _that_. He has -- absolutely he has -- but right now he's more concerned with how cool the air's turned, whether they'll make it back to camp before the dark clouds threatening rain start to spill over.

But it's just that Charlotte's been grumbling about the survivors again -- their well-worn paranoia; the watchful eyes tracking their every move, the wary questions -- and he'd just wanted to say (do) something beyond all the platitudes that seem to run together eventually, the _don't worrys _and the _we'll be fines_.

(Because he doesn't know if they will be. Not really.)

And sure, when Dan turns back towards her, stumbling a little over an overgrown tree root, he means to, plans to grasp her arm, step closer (like a reminder, _you've got me_), but not what's next -- his mouth crashes against hers, all clumsy hesitance and teeth catching her bottom lip, Charlotte stiffening in surprise. And he's ready to pull back (and run for the hills, if he's honest) when he feels her fingertips at his cheek, and she pauses their kiss, smiling against the side of his face.

Her voice is wry, and a little soft.

"Took you long enough."

(It's not at all what he expected and better than anything he could have imagined.)

----

There's a lot of firsts for them, on the island.

It's been an on/off torrential downpour for days -- like a monsoon thundering down on their heads -- and a last-minute dash towards their tent leaves them soaked and chilled down to the bone.

Charlotte's already pulling her T-shirt over her head when what he figures must be his gobsmacked look stops her. She shrugs, flinging the sopping-wet bundle of material into one corner (of course they brought guns and parachutes but not a change of clothes). "It's freezing out. Don't know about you, but I'm hoping my trousers will dry a bit before I have to put them back on."

He's still hesitating so she rolls her eyes a little, fingers slipping under the hem of her tank top.

"It's not some covert operation to take your innocence, Dan." She's teasing, but it's gentle, as she turns away to strip down to her underwear, wrapping herself in one of the airline blankets they found abandoned in the makeshift shelter. Face burning, Daniel follows suit, the material of his drenched-through tie thick and unwieldy between his fingers. Finally rids himself of almost everything, then burrows into another blanket and flops down beside her.

Laying down and smoothing out her own cover, Charlotte glances back at him -- "c'mere, I'm still bloody frozen," she implores, nonchalant but smiling -- and lifts one corner. Dan obliges, scooting underneath and laying his own blanket over both of them; he tucks his body behind hers and feels the heat radiating from behind her knees. The rest of her -- her skin's chilled and still beaded with rain, so he inches a bit closer, snaking one arm over her waist and fingers splayed against her belly.

And it's just Charlotte, right? So he doesn't feel all too weird about resting his cheek along the curve of her neck, wet curls tickling his face. When he moves, his lips sweep across her shoulder -- first accidentally, and then not so much -- and it's just that she smells so good, like the rain that's still thrumming on the roof of their shelter. So next his mouth finds the hollow where jaw meets neck, just behind her ear -- softly, barely a touch, testing -- and his hand moves back to cup her hipbone, feeling damp cotton under his palm.

Suddenly she's twisting in his arms, turning to face him; both of them breathing shallow, silently, the moment fragile and hanging delicate between them, and then broken as they tangle together in a rush. (_Yes_, he thinks, prays; feeling like his want is ready to burst through his chest, the first time since Theresa he's felt a swell of desire pulsing so deep and long. _Finally_.)

When she comes it's his name that tumbles, helpless and ragged, from her lips; a moan he swallows back greedily, mouth open to hers and hands tangled in her hair. Her nails dig -- hard -- into the flesh of his shoulder (there'll be angry red half-moons the next day; a sight that'll almost make her blush) and that's all it takes for him to follow, groaning through gritted teeth.

He collapses next to her, tasting sweat and resting one hand against the dip of her collarbone -- her pulse, erratic and fast, flits against his own; he thinks it's maybe the safest feeling in the world. Beside him, Charlotte exhales -- a pleased, weary sigh -- and pulls the blankets up around their shoulders, the tap-tapping sound of the downpour against the tarp overhead finally lulling him, for the first time since they landed, into a deep and dreamless sleep.

----

Eventually, like always, the storm passes, the pattering of rain slowing and winds dying to make way for the jungle's familiar chirps and echoes. Dan and Charlotte head outside, tentative, sand still wet between their toes and joining the other survivors who blink into the newly-returned early evening sun.

Her hand's at his waist and _I love you_ is what he wants to say, just because it's true. (It's so, so true; he can feel it down to his bones.) But instead he draws her close, folds his arms around her neck. Dusk's breaking on the horizon, painting blood red across the sky, and Dan considers, absently, that it's a good sign; Frank had mentioned something, about sailing and the colour at night. He feels Charlotte's lips brush against his jawbone, the briefest flutter of a kiss, and he thinks maybe those words -- that first -- can wait. Until they're on safer footing with the survivors, away from ever-present danger and life-risking missions. Until they're off the island.

Save it for later, he decides. There's a little bit of magic in the first times, after all.


End file.
